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Because he sounds dead serious and because the thought of it threatens to send me into cardiac arrest, I laugh. “Sure,” I say, looking up at him. “Why not.”
“Say when,” he says, still looking like he means it. Before I can ask him if he does, he walks past me, into the kitchen. “Do you want to take a shower?”
“With you?” I say it just so I can watch his eyes go dark. His jaw go tight.
He sets a bag down on the kitchen counter and pulls Shad out of my arms. “Bathroom’s upstairs. I’ll bring you your bag.”
Despite the open invitation, I shower alone, spending the next thirty minutes scrubbing and washing in a shower big enough to play field hockey in. I wrap myself in the huge towel hanging on the hook next to the shower. When I step out of the bathroom and into what turned out to be the master suite, my beat-up bag is sitting on the bed.
Digging through it I find the same tanks and jeans I’ve worn a thousand times.
And a sundress.
It’s mine.
I put it on.
It’s been shoved in the back of my closet for years.
Coming down the stairs I can see Declan moving around the kitchen. “How do you feel about lobster?” he calls out when he hears me.
“I’m pro-lobster as long as there’s an indecent amount of butter involved.”
He laughs. “I didn’t know there was another way to…” When he catches sight of me, he stops talking. “I…” He clears his throat and starts over. “I found it in your closet.”
I look down at the dress I’m wearing.
White eyelet with buttons down the front of it.
I don’t want to tell him that my mother bought it for me because the fact that a dress I’ve had since I was fourteen still fits me is kind of embarrassing but also because I don’t intend to spend the day crying about my mother. I don’t intend spending it eating lobster either.
Intend to spend it in bed with Declan.